The Vanishing Thief(38)
“Yes. Miss Emma Keyes.”
He tapped on the front wall and the carriage pulled to a halt. “Here’s the lane Fenchurch’s Books is on. Will this do?”
“Very nicely, Your Grace.” The footman helped me down the last drop to the street. I made a graceless, two-footed landing, but at least I didn’t fall on my face.
I heard a snickering from the carriage, but when I turned to look, the duke wore a somber expression.
*
THE BELL OVER the shop door rang the next afternoon while I was helping a matronly looking woman find the right cookbook. Looking up, I saw Inspector Grantham step into the bookstore and remove his bowler hat. He nodded to me and glanced over a book while I finished with my customer.
As soon as the woman left the shop, Grantham walked over and said, “What were you and Grandmama playing at last night?”
“There’s a man named Nicholas Drake whose disappearance the police don’t want to investigate.”
“I looked into it. We don’t have any reason to. There’s no sign of foul play. No ransom demand. Nothing. Can’t a man just take off for a few days without his neighbors worrying?” He set the book on the edge of the counter and stared at me.
I gave up the idea of selling the volume to the inspector when I saw the title was Household Hints. “You may not be able to look into it, but the Archivist Society can. We’ve found evidence that Nicholas Drake was a thief and a blackmailer.”
Grantham perked up at my last words. “Hard evidence?”
“Nothing anybody would share with you.”
“But you could share what you’ve learned.” He gave me a cold stare.
I did, briefly and without question. We’d been in the same position before, and Grantham had threatened to stop his grandmother’s involvement if Sir Broderick didn’t tell him everything. I respected Grantham as one of London’s best police inspectors, and we needed Lady Westover’s aid in dealing with members of high society. Sooner or later, in this situation, I was sure we’d need Grantham to make the arrest.
“There’s something you can do for me in exchange.”
Grantham looked at me uneasily.
“Find out the details of an investigation from a dozen years ago. No, not my parents,” I said when he opened his mouth, “the murder of a bookshop owner named Denis Lupton.”
His expression showed he was frankly curious, but he agreed.
As Grantham left the shop, Jacob came in, breathing hard from hurrying, his hair standing up from the wind and his scarf over one ear. “Georgia, Emma, this just arrived at Sir Broderick’s. He thought you should see it right away. It’ll need to be followed up on.”
He handed over a letter. Emma crowded close to read over my shoulder. The flowery script said,
Dear Sir Broderick,
There are several people who do not want Nicholas Drake found because he is a blackmailer. He’s an unprincipled swine who preys on the weak and helpless. Therefore, he generally chooses women as his victims, threatening to expose their sorrows if he is not handsomely rewarded.
I am one of his victims. I want the brute stopped and his evidence returned to me. You have the best people to accomplish this, but I dare not approach you in an obvious manner. Nor do I care to commit my story to paper. Since I am aware that you cannot come to meet me in person, I request you send a female member of the Archivist Society to Portman Square on the next nice spring day we have at two in the afternoon. Have her wear a daffodil in her hair. I shall be wearing a green walking dress and carrying a green parasol.
Sincerely yours, a victim of Nicholas Drake
I looked at Emma and then at the dry leaves and paper blowing down the street in front of the shop. “We won’t need to pick a daffodil from our garden today.”
Emma smiled. “As if we had one. Or had the time to take care of one.”
“What shall I tell Sir B?” Jacob asked.
“Tell him I’ll keep the appointment. I’m surprised she didn’t give me a code word to say.” I glanced at the letter again and shook my head. “I wonder how she found out about our investigation.”
“Something you’ll need to ask her tomorrow. It should be nice out,” Emma told me. “And bring home the daffodil. I’d like to try wearing flowers in my hair.”
She gave me a haughty smirk. Jacob looked at her with devotion in his eyes.
*
EMMA WAS WRONG. The next day was cold and drizzling. Leaving Emma in charge of the bookshop at the lunch hour, I traveled to Grosvenor Square and watched the Naylard town house from the park. I couldn’t picture Lucinda Naylard worrying overmuch about the weather, so I didn’t believe she’d written the letter to Sir Broderick. After a few minutes, Lord Naylard left, no doubt for his club, and I approached the house.